You

Antony Ros


Four walls surround
Where nothing hangs but stains
From fists punching and pounding
The blood that dripped, left to dry
Like tears on cheeks from everyday living

No one cares but for their own affairs
While a single bullet sleeps in a cleaned out chamber
Held in hand, a gun
That mother carried if father got out of line
Too afraid to fire, the only virgin in this house, is a pistol

The mind rotates around, thinking
To take life and face the music
Everyone will call it suicide
Was he depressed?
Tired of waiting for someone else to win his fight

Inside and out
Living in self misery
Low self esteem,
He stares
At the ground, more than the sky

You’ve sent us angels with spears and swords
You’ve had prophets use language to inspire
You’ve sent us, terror from heaven
You’ve lost many battles
to the fucking devil

View original post 129 more words

One thought on “You

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s